Mirrors
by Mirror Of Words
Summary: Devil Survivor 2. That's right; that's all she is, nothing more than a replacement in the case that he were to, by any means, cease to exist. And she loathed it. [spoilers for ronaldo's route, implied yamato/hibiki]


**::Title: **Mirror.

**::Full Summary: **That's right; that's all she is, nothing more than a replacement in the case that he were to, by any means, cease to exist. And she loathed it.

**::Rating: **T.

**::Genre: **Family/Tragedy.

**::Characters: **Yamato Hotsuin, Miyako Hotsuin, Hibiki Kuze, etc.

**::Pairings: **Implied Yamato/Hibiki.

**::Image: **By shiseptiana of Tumblr. WITH PERMISSION! THANK YOU SO MUCH SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIII ;_;

**::Warnings: **Spoilers for the whole game and Ronaldo's Route.

Mirror, mirror on the wall. Who's that.

OH GOOOOOOOOD I'm finally done with this uhhhhhh ;_; Took me forever and my schedule is so freaking jam-packed but I had to do this, I had to.

This idea spawned from shiseptiana's picture (the cover image). And how Miyako's scheduled for an appearance in Break Record (Devil Survivor 2 Remake)! If you don't know who she is, please check out the Megami Tensei Wikia for more info! Her design's so awesome... ;_;

This is just my take. Not canon. Nope. Probs never will be (probs?!).

Excuse the title and summary. I could think of nothing better.

This is also somewhat dedicated to Shi (THANK YOUUUUU).

Comments and critisms are appreciated. Please... ;_;

* * *

She detested mirrors.

Mirrors. They were such wonderful things, weren't they? Such an important tool in everyday life, used to reflect one's image, allowing that person to ensure his or her image was in tip-top condition, or just admire their form.

And yet, she detested them.

Because what was reflected by them when she stood in front of it was not her.

…

She could remember those times when she stood before a mirror, admiring her elegant form. Luscious silver locks tumbling down her shoulders, long and curly and silky. Sharp violet eyes, brimming with intelligence, mesmerizing, staring back at her. A bluebell white silk dress that shone marvellously underneath the sunlight, adorned with petite ribbons and genuine pearls she just loved to wear.

Now, all she saw was him.

She hated how much she resembled – no, how she was a direct carbon copy of himself. Her long locks had been reduced to the length of the base of her neck; just like him. Everything she used to wear, from her elegant frilled dresses to her refined shoes, now replaced with rows of heavy overcoats, dress shirts, lengthy trousers, long ties, and knee-high boots, all of a dull, monochrome colour; just like him. Her voice, once light, smooth, high-pitched as a girl's voice would be, yet, subtly mature, now surprisingly deep, as if belonging to a man of high class: refined, incomparable to the masses; just like him. Even her very own self, once bubbly, radiant, yet graceful, as a young woman should be, now replaced with an apathetic, calculative, unforgiving, manipulative stranger, with no room for any sort of error.

Just like him.

Just like him.

…

Every time.

Every time she saw him within the mirror, sneering, mocking her form, his words would echo within her ears: "You'll never be anything more than a carbon copy of myself. At least put in the effort to be a better replacement, will you, dear sister?"

That's right; that's all she is, nothing more than a replacement in the case that he were to, by any means, cease to exist.

Every time she saw him within the mirror, sneering, mocking her form, she would reduce the mirror to mere shards. She did not care how she did it, as long as it was done. She did not care for the steadily growing stain of red on her gloves; she did not care if her hands would be injured by the sharp, jagged ends of the shards lodged into it; she did not, would not see him as herself. She didn't want him trailing her, mocking her, berating her.

"You'll never be anything more than a carbon copy of myself. At least put in the effort to be a better replacement, will you, dear sister?"

She didn't want to see him as herself.

…

And yet, without fail, she could, she would, always see him within those shards in her hands, as did she within the million fragments scattered across the floor.

Trailing her, mocking her, berating her.

…

Perhaps, despite everything, she still had one trait she could call her own; one trait that he himself had no control over; one trait of hers that he himself had to acknowledge, albeit grudgingly.

She hung onto it, dearly, desperately, as if it were her last lifeline – perhaps, it were. The only form of her own, the only trait that identified her as herself, herself and only herself; the only trait that gives her a form of significance. The only part of her that he had to acknowledge her form, her existence, her being.

Bearing the taxing power of the Dragon Stream had its quirks. It just happened to be, by some odd stroke of fate, the two being twins, being two inseparable siblings – and did fate make sure of that, or she would probably have been casted out long ago – and the power of the Dragon Stream had been split amongst the two.

As much as it were a disability, she loved it. It gave her a part of herself to hold onto, helped her to establish herself, her very own self. Not him, not anyone else. Just herself.

She could not manipulate the Dragon Stream well, barely, even; she was always snubbed by her elders for it. _You're able to detect the traits of the Dragon Stream? Then why can you not manipulate it? You're just a disability to your brother; as if a parasite, even, making him imperfect. Every one would be better off if you ceased to exist!_

She did not mind in the slightest. It was her only form of identity. Only fools would hold such a blasphemous thought. At least he had some leverage; he knew to acknowledge the fact. He knew that, in terms of the Dragon Stream, without her, he was barely comparable to anything, as she was without him.

And she loved it. She relished every part of it, and she made sure he knew of it. It was the only moment she could truly be herself, her true self.

Her spirits would rise whenever she heard those swift, deft footsteps, followed by the unmistakable call of her name, _her_ name, even if it were called in a state of reluctance, of distaste; because he was acknowledging her existence, a contrast to when he would treat her as if a burden. How he would mention he were sorry she existed.

"Miyako Hotsuin."

Miyako. Miyako Hotsuin.

That was herself. Not Yamato, not Yamato Hotsuin, not Chief, not, _woman_; just, Miyako Hotsuin.

And she loved it.

…

Did he really not care for her?

She'd like to think otherwise; as a part of an elite family, as the Hotsuin family played the role of the shadow of Japan itself, they were deprived from what should have been a normal childhood, forced into busy schedules a commoner would break apart upon being thrust into; everything, they had to be masterful in. No room for error was allowed. From every aspect there was; sciences, arts, music, histories, arithmetical studies; and, ultimately, the arts of demon summoning, from rituals, histories, skills, everything there was to it.

They were never taught of affection, of companionship except for the two of them being together; how it was like to experience it, what it was like; they were never taught how to love.

She'd like to think that, due to this fact, to her brother, it was impossible to love, and, thus, treated everyone around him as if they were worth nothing, treating them apathetically, uncaringly.

But, to her, it did not quite make sense. He and she were tutored accordingly; with the exception of a few classes, they were always tutored together. As much as she despised him, she still held a form of – of – respect? – towards him, as did he with her; mostly, they did not see things eye to eye, and had been most competitive; often so, they would clash, and stir trouble for the tutor (to the unfortunate tutor's distaste, too; often they were complained of and earned punishments accordingly); even so, she had always looked up to him, the big brother figure she – perhaps – never quite had.

So why could he not when she could?

How could he not see things the way she did?

How could he not love her?

[It would be a lie to state that he did not hold a form of "care" towards her as well. Quite often, he would relay his thoughts, his views to her, (though most of those conversations were one-sided,) and he did not mind her presence at times, and even enjoyed it; but at times - those were the times she found herself despising him - the mocking and the berating would come; most of it occured when he held a foul mood and she failed to percieve it, or when he hald whatever sort of displeasure towards her.]

Moreover, the thing that confused her the most:

_Did she truly love him back?_

…

Perhaps, she would never know.

…

…

And then, Judgement Day began with the trembling of the earth itself.

She was only briefed by her brother (thanks to her "mild importance in aiding him in the process of manipulating the Dragon Stream when the situation arrives", or so he had put it; not _if, _but _when_, hurrah, she supposed) about it; nonetheless, she was ensured by him to be well-prepared, handed assignments when assistance was required.

Those moments rarely came, though – she was never stationed to do much. Apparently, she was "barely of significance" during the crisis, as her beloved brother had bluntly worded it. Hurrah.

It did not matter, really; she was fine with that. As much as she wanted to aid others during the ordeal, she preferred to take idle walks around the headquarters, silently taking in the outside world and how the crisis had shattered what was left of it, and wrecked what was supposed to be a peace-driven society. And, of course, there was the time to contemplate of the questions regarding her brother she had yet to find an answer to while leaning against Cerberus' warm body and fur; mmm, soft, comfy fur.

If she wished to kill time in a different method, she could always head onto the Osaka branch of JP's and assist Yanagiya in aiding the injured, or pay a visit to the Nagoya branch and strike idle yet informative conversation with Kanno, or even accompany young Koharu, Yanagiya's daughter, whom she had come to take a liking to, marvelling the young girl's drawings. They were all simple and clean, and, to be frank, by her standards, a sham of a drawing, but, to her, it held a form of innocence, seemingly so small yet brimming with ideals, something only a child could manage.

At least, a child who had had the privilege to experience a genuine childhood.

…

She still hated it when the lesser JP's officers mistakened her for their loyal Chief whenever she was with Yanagiya or Kanno.

…

He had changed him, somehow.

Hibiki Kuze.

She could tell, a few days into the crisis, that her brother had a deep sense of respect and admiration – and liking – towards the eighteen-year-old. His acknowledgeable sense of right and wrong. His exceptional ability of leadership. He mentioned the teen numerous times when he took the time to conversation on matters regarding the ordeal with her. How Kuze bore ability which displayed the level of being parable to the Chief of JP's himself. How he always kept a cool head, despite regarding matters of life-threatening levels. If only those he referred to as "friends" did not drag him and his potential down. He would be a perfect subordinate – no, perhaps something even more than so.

_What about me? _She wanted to ask, but successfully managed to hold her tongue.

She was, quite frankly, quite surprised that – of all people – a commoner had managed to influence her brother in a way no-one had ever had. Her brother, she found, was more tolerable, more considerate – only by a mere fraction, but still, it was a shocking improvement.

She would have to admit that the boy was a fastinating one. Indeed, his potential was like no other, and, even though she had merely been spying on him, she had found him to be quite likable. She could see why her brother had taken a liking to him.

Maybe Hibiki Kuze could change him for the better.

…

The person within the mirror looked more tolerable, now.

…

She'd do it for kicks sometimes.

Turning into the very epitome of her brother himself, she would approach Hibiki; her imitation of her brother, it was flawless, as it should be. Hibiki was completely fooled.

He was olso completely flabbergasted by the hilarious antics she pulled on him.

Oh, did Hibiki look absolutely sdorable when he was flustered by her acts! The boy was so fun to tease; she could tell that he, similar to her brother, held a sort of admiration towards her brother; that made it all the fun to tease him; how she would wistfully tip off the fact that she – rather, her brother – held feelings for him; how she actually stooped down to brush her lips ever-so lightly against his. He looked as if he were about to weird out, to which she felt like laughing out loud, and barely managed to contain it.

Needless to say, the boy turned slightly – no, very wary of him, flushing whenever he approached him and constantly avoiding conversation with him if possible. The thing she found most amusing was the puzzled expression on her brother's face; it was, to put it simply, priceless.

But Yamato Hotsuin was not a clueless fool.

...

Did she quite do it for kicks?

She did not know.

...

Meritocracy.

Of course. That was expected from her brother, who had always been disgusted by the way the world and its society revolved. He had asked her what she thought of it once. She had replied that she was neutral about it.

He was disgusted.

Surely he did not expect everyone to agree on his terms? Not even his subordinates did. Sure enough, Kanno and Sako, along with that Keita Wakui boy, saw fit to that idea. But the rest had conflicting ideas about it. So why did he expect her to be all gung-ho about hi idea?

Oh, right. Because she was supposed to be his mirror image. She was to act like him, to think like him, to share the same views as him. Right. Of course.

Did Hibiki agree on his views? Her brother was very particular about it. He had very high hopes fo him, obviously. And, by then, it was absolutely obvious that her brother held a certain something towards Hibiki. He did not specify and told her to "scram" when she attempted to enquire about it.

She'd like to think that it was affection, of course.

…

But did he – could he – love anyone?

…

The reflection within the mirror began to blur.

…

It was the sixth day of the ordeal when she was confronted by him.

All of his subordinates had left in order to defeat Mizar, the sixth Septentrione, which currently struggled within the unforgiving jaws of the materialised form of the Dragon Stream. Of course she did not participate in battle, having to stay by her brother's side in case any sudden changed of the Dragon Stream occurred.

He caught her off guard.

He had grabbed her by the crook of her elbows, and slammed her against the nearest wall, she let out a startled cry upon impact. They were the only two within the monitoring room, capturing every scene of the cattle, so no-one came to her aid.

"Who do you think you are trying to fool, woman?" he snarled at her, voice filled with hostility. Fear consumed her for a moment as she stared at his glowing form, into his eyes, which pupils turned into slits, resembling those of a dragon, and contained flecks of prominent gold within violet. Then, with effort, she resumed her mask, a imitation of the man before her, smirking at him.

"Oh, whatever do you speak of, my dear brother?" she remarked, her lips curling to form a mocking smile. "You seem to be vexed. You may confide in me; you know you may trust me."

He lowered his face until it was mere inches away from hers; she found it difficult not to cower, and to focus on those golden eyes of his. "What do you take me for?" his voice was barely above a whisper, cleanly slicing through the air. "Tell me, woman. What may you be trying to achieve, hmm?"

She glared at him with the hostility she could barely manage. "Oh? And what does it matter to you – "

His grip on her strengthened tremendously, and she bit the insides of her cheek to suppress the cry of pain balling up within her throat; not long after the metallic taste of blood infiltrated her senses.

"What may you be trying to achieve, Miyako Hotsuin?" he hissed. She stared at him, fear numbing her. She dodged the question.

"O-Oh?" she gulped, unable to fathom what could happen after she said what she were about to; her mask was slipping, if only by a fraction; he could see his eyes narrow. "Are you, perhaps, smitten by the boy, Yamato – "

The invisible force around her neck was strong, successfully suffocating her; her feet hovered in the air. His hand was thrusted out in a chocking motion, the power her bore doing all the work for him.

"Are you planning to have the boy within your grasp, Miyako?" he cackled, his voice laced with utmost cruelty, "He will never fall for you or your antics. He isn't even aware of your existence."

Yes, of course. He isn't aware of your existence. Because you are merely your brother's shodow, his mirror image; in other words, worth nothing.

Nothing.

"A-At least," she managed to gasp; when she spoke, her mask had completely vanished, and she sounded completely truthful to herself; "at least, during those moments, I was worth something." Her eyes stung with tears, her voice trembling. "I was loved by someone."

A flash of emotions crossed the apathetic man's face, and soon she found herself as a crumpled heap on the floor, gasping for the air that did not seem to reach her lungs fast enough.

He stood there for a moment, rigid; then, his footsteps echoing within the room, he turned to survey the monitors wordlessly. She coughed slightly, her hands shaky as she attempted to stand or, at least, kneel; as sudden as everything else that happened to her earlier, the energy within the air fluctuated, and the sudden drop of the energy within the air made her fall onto the ground once more. Her brother turned around, alarmed.

"… t-the Dragon Stream is depleting faster than expected." She managed to choke out. A shadow loomed over her, and she raised her head to see her brother looming over her, hand held out.

"Get up," he ordered, and she couldn't quite believe herself. She must have been staring for a while, because he scowled, knelt down and grabbed her hand, yanking her up. He adjusted her astray tie, and turned around, facing the monitors, taking out a phone.

"…A-A carbon copy of mine has to be in top condition to truly be someone," he coughed out before punching numbers into his phone and bringing it towards his ear. "Hibiki?..."

She smiled.

…

"Hello, Miyako Hotsuin."

"…Hello, Alcor."

"How do you fare?"

"…I'm fine, Alcor. How are you?"

"Fine."

"…"

"…"

"I see you have gone through some hardships with your brother."

"…and your point is?"

"Do you believe if I told you that he loves you, even though he does not show his true feelings?"

"…blasphemy."

Chuckle.

"I see."

"…"

"Do you love him?"

" – I…"

"I'm sure you do."

" - ! Wait…"

He disappeared.

…

Did she?

She did not know.

…

She knew that was the only ounce of kindness she was about to receive from him.

But she knew that tiny amount of kindness meant more than a mountainload of it from anyone else.

…

Who was that person within the mirror?

…

Day Seven.

Who was she to join if not her brother?

Apparently, much to her brother's disappointment Hibiki had chosen not to ally with him; he had, instead, sided with – of all people there was to side with – Ronaldo Kuriki himself. Needless to say, her brother was very disappointed, and swore to bring him back to his senses, showing him what was the true path he should follow.

The four had left for an ambush – her brother, Sako, Wakui and Kanno – and, of course, she was excluded. What little she could make out of their plan said that the three were to infiltrate the Nagoya base, somehow hacking into their phones, and her brother would head onto the Tsutenkaku if that were to fail, should it fail.

"Why do I keep getting left out, Cerberus?" she asked the demon absentmindedly as she leant against it, stroking its warm, warm, soft, mane, soft, soft, soft, soft. She always told the demon her troubles, leaking out her true self to it, to which it always listened to attentively. "I mean, I could be, like, a secret weapon."

Except that she wasn't. She was a mere substitute in the case where her brother was eliminated. Even than she couldn't be herself.

Cerberus yawned in reply.

"Oh, bother. I guess you wouldn't know." She sighed. The beast seemed to shrug, snuggling at her. She snuggled back, feeling its warm, soft, soft, soft, soft, soft, soooooooooooft fur, burying her face into its fur, inhaling its warm, homey-seeming fur, inhaling its soothing scent…

- And she felt a sudden jerk of energy spiralling within the air.

She shot upwards, as did Cerberus, who seemed to be on its guard. The Dragon Stream. No doubt her brother was manipulating the Dragon Stream, engaging himself in battle. Fine. That should be fine.

Had it not been the extent he was pushing the Dragon Stream's limits to.

She gritted her teeth. That fool…! Oh, he was good at everything, but he just didn't know how to stick by the rule and manipulate the Dragon Stream and manipulate it within its extent! He was pushing beyond the Dragon Stream's limits, that blundering fool! At that rate, te Tsutenkaku would collapse…!

And the last thing she needed was him getting crushed underneath it.

…

" – mato! Yamato!"

She was running at top speed – why, oh why did she leave Cerberus within the headquarters when she needed it the most! – towards the Tsuutenkaku, preparing herself for the worst possible situation.

That fool… he should know not to use the Dragon Stream unless he was under her supervision unless it was small amounts! What was wrong with him? She could only think of one conclusion: that he had gotten so caught up in recruiting Hibiki back to his side that –

That he –

He –

She stopped in her tracks, her breathing rate increasing, as she stared at the sight beholding her. Her hands clenched her coat roughly, not quite believing her eyes.

No… it can't be true… no…

He

was

crushed under the

the Tsuutenkaku –

…

"Yamato!"

…

She knelt down beside the body crushed under the Tsuutenkaku, not realising the blood – his blood – stained her pants darker than it already was. She threw the bunny-eared coat out of the way – the white coat was red, redredred – and grabbed his shoulders, hesitance creeping up at her when she felt not an ounce of energy. Then she snapped out of it, shaking him, eyes welling up with warmth and wetness upon noticing the blood trickling down his forehead, still fresh…

"Yamato."

No response.

"Yamato, y-you fool…"

Still no response.

"Yamato!"

No, no, no, no, no. It couldn't be. It couldn't…

He… he couldn't… couldn't be…

…dead…

"Yamato. Yamato, you'd best wake up now, Yamato." She found herself laughing, somewhat bitterly. "What sort of trick are you trying to pull on me, Yamato Hotsuin? Come now, are you that childish? You'd best wake up now. Come now… w-what happened to you being stronger than that?"

The wetness in her eyes slipped down her face, and fell onto her brother's; she belatedly realised, that the warmness in her eyes was tears.

"Y-Yamato… wake… wake up…" she sounded like a child now, sounded like herself, not some farce of Yamato, but, herself. A whimper escaped her throat. "Y-Yamato…" She gripped onto his coat tightly.

"Please… wake up…"

She was pleading him.

But there was still no response.

The tears fell with no restraint. She was crying, the tears like a steady stream, and it all fell onto Yamato's face, his once-vibrant eyes with a domineering look sealed shut. Where? Where was this person she had loathed so badly gone?

Did she loathe him, really?

Then what was this feeling stirring within her?

Pain? Anguish? Angst? Grief?

She could not word it. She could not, could not word it…

"…Mi…yako?"

She let out a gasp upon hearing the familiar voice call her name. Was… was she hallucinating?

She had never heard him refer her to her name before.

Her grip on his coat tightened, and the heavy weight within her lifted when she saw those eyes open up.

"Ya…mato." She managed to choke out. "Yamato…"

She whimpered. She was unable to say anymore.

He smiled at her, a hand shakily reaching upwards. Miyako grabbed the hand instantly, gripping it tight as if a lifeline, but he let out a barely audible mumble of protest, so she let go.

Slowly, he reached upwards, and cupped her face with the hand – the hand was deathly cold. A thumb trailled across her face, leaving a smudge of blood and tears in an attempt to rid of her tears.

"Don't… cry," he said, the smile – a serene one? – still lingering on his face, the first and last she would ever see. "the… the head of JP's… shouldn't be so vulnerable… to her emotions…"

Then, after the longest pause, "I'm sorry."

_And I love you too._

His hand fell, and she grabbed it before it hit the ground and pooling blood.

"Y… Yamato?" she whispered. Then, she said, louder, "Yamato. Y-Yamato… Yamato!"

…

The mirror image has disappeared.

Is it a mirror image?

She didn't know.

…

He never awoke.

…

She was herself.

She was finally herself.

Now, that there was only one of the two of them, she would never be mistakened as him. No-one would refer to her as him. No more Chief, no more Yamato Hotsuin, just Miyako Hotsuin.

She could finally herself.

But… as strange as it may seem, after all the while…

She didn't want that.

It left a gaping hole within her, a hole that could never be refilled.

Perhaps Alcor was right, after all.

She did love him, as did he.

…

She stayed by his side, hoping to somehow fill the moments of them missing within each other's life within those vain moments, before the Void finally devoured what was left of each other.

…

And then, Judgement Day ended.

…

It took time for order to return.

Suffice to say, Ronaldo Kuriki, Hibiki Kuze, Yuzuru Akie, Otome Yanagiya, Airi Ban and all their other accomplices succeeded in changing order within the world. Polaris' power had reformed man's consciousness and a new world, a new order dawned. Everyone aided each other, no matter what the situation. Considerateness reigned supreme and men dedicated their lives to each other – it was an enjoyable sight. It was a true utopia, indeed, the sort everyone had dreamed of for ages.

Everything was perfect except for the gaping hole within her.

She was still leaning against the fallen tower, still unrecovered, when she saw him approaching her.

"…Ya…Yamato?"

Her eyes, dull and seemingly lifeless, opened slowly, and her gaze locked with Hibiki Kuze's. Her voice was hoarse as she spoke.

"…Hibiki… Kuze."

She stood up, her legs shaking, as if numb from not walking for ages, and she leaned her hand against the fallen tower. She stared at him, who was hesitant in approaching, seeing two seemingly similar people, one pinned under the tower and one walking towards him.

"Hibiki…" she mumbled, her only thoughts lingering on him. "Hibiki."

Do you know how much you meant to my brother?

Thank you.

Thank you so much.

She took him into her arms and cried.

Thank you for giving him the love he never had.

Thank you for staying by his side until the very end.

Thank you for caring about him.

Thank you.

Thank you…

For making him realise…

That he had a sister who genuinely cared for him…

For making him realise…

For making her realise.

That he cared for her as well, as she did for him.

…

The person in the mirror?

It was herself.

Herself…

Herself.

Of course, she saw him within it too, smiling at her, with that serene smile she thought she would have never seen again.

…

And she also saw Hibiki, and his friends Daichi and Io, and her friends, companions for life, to fill up that gap within her.

And they weren't only within her mirror, they were beside her.

Within the mirror, Yamato smiled at her.

* * *

**A/N:** As soon as Break Record is release this thing is gonna be scrapped. Trashed. Stomped on, burned, what-say-you. Whatever. I'm keeping this one no matter what.

I hope there're no inaccuracies. This was typed in-and-out on-and-off. If you get what I mean. Please inform me if there are! ;_; PLEASEEEEE!

Yeah... so. I hope I did a good job on this. I hope you enjoyed reading it as I did typing it! :D

PLEASE REVIEW! ;_; PLEASE... I admit I'm a bit desperate (lol much) but I really wanna know how I did on this fic... sorry for sounding pushy if I do. PLEASE!

Till next time, :3


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